


Verbal Swordsmithing

by LotusRox



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Fluff, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4466918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusRox/pseuds/LotusRox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There was power in the way Dave expressed himself when they talked about <i>ideals</i>. It was frugal, yet precise. Serious, with absolutely no drama, and yet Hal still felt he was getting the most heartfelt of speeches."</p><p>----</p><p>For a man of so few words, Solid Snake is oddly good at motivating people right where and when they need it. Otacon in special, can attest to the strength behind a well-put sentence or two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Verbal Swordsmithing

**Author's Note:**

> @Panpinecone had a MAJOR hand in helping me edit this, it was a mess when it first got put into sweet virtual paper. Kudos, honor and glory for her <3 Best Betareader Ever, ok?

With his habit of looking back to analyze and overanalyze every possibly significant memory, Hal can now say in all honesty that the first time he had a glimpse of the depth his partner was capable of, it was next to a broken elevator, Dave’s voice rough with adrenaline and the chill of Shadow Moses’ night.

His words back then had given Hal a backbone to go on and survive the incident. But it was only after he was alone and back at his apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, three years after he first left for Alaska, that he really started to measure and weigh what the soldier had told him. The recollection of his voice was louder than the hum of Hal’s computer, the heating system, or even Hal’s blood in his ears when he lied down on his side to sleep.

All those things, he remembers clear as day.

The idea of protecting those he loved, and how he’d failed time and time again, became something of an obsession for him. It became worse once he got word of the bootlegged REX blueprints leaked all over. Clones of an idea that had gained life of its own, spreading like cancer.

Hal had always pictured himself as being the one who gave REX life. He just had never thought she would become self-replicating.

In the end he went back to Alaska, back to Snake. Of course. Because he _was_ going to do something about it. For the first time not out of guilt -even if the guilt had been overwhelming in the beginning- but out of _responsibility_. He needed to protect others from his mistakes.

Somehow, Hal had felt so deeply that Snake would understand him better than anybody else.

He’d talked to Nastasha first. Less impulsive than he’d been in his youth, he wanted to know what cards he had, what cards he could play. Maybe Snake wouldn’t want to join him, with plenty of good reasons; but Hal wasn’t going to let his yet unnamed organization be lost in stillbirth.

Those days, they got burnt into his memory along with all the feelings that plagued him.

He remembers the smell of snow, dogs, and alcohol that hit his nose when Snake opened the door of his cabin, as well as the smell of fresh gunpowder when Snake lowered the gun he’d been pointing at whoever had knocked, mindful of how the last visit he’d gotten had ended.

Hal found the former legendary soldier alone and bitter, veins soaked with the cheapest moonshine you could find in the depths of Twin Lakes.

Somehow, Snake still listened to what he had to say.

Somehow, Dave let him stay. Let him help.

Late-night talks throughout the weeks, Dave gradually healing , and Hal growing optimistic just as steadily, all helped pump new blood through the plan’s backbone. The soldier wasn’t talkative but he _understood_. He obviously knew of war and loss, but also told Hal about the words he had said to a dead man who still haunted his nightmares. How he had once loved life, and thrown that in Big Boss’s face to deny him, back when both youth and pride had been in his nature.

There was power in the way Dave expressed himself when they talked about _ideals_. It was frugal, yet precise. Serious, with absolutely no drama, and yet Hal still felt he was getting the most heartfelt of speeches. And with Dave increasingly breaking out of the shell he had built around himself, his eloquence grew. His words sharpened like a dull blade repeatedly going against a whetstone; and even if it wasn’t in Dave to make a claymore out of them, they made for damn good daggers.

It was during those conversations that his original desire to save other people from his mistakes shifted into a more complex, profound drive.

_"If you love someone, you have to be able to protect them.”_

It was about protecting the world, because the world was enormous, terrible, and beautiful all at once; and it was worthy of it.

And during those nights, Hal had indeed fallen in love with both Dave and the outside world without noticing, or even meaning to. But he had known it for sure the moment he asked Dave how they would name their Anti-Metal Gear organization.

Dave had thought for a little, silent, then said, “Philanthropy.”

And, as he realized the nature of both loves, the only thing that had stopped Hal from kissing Dave right then was the equally heavy knowledge that he would be jeopardizing not only the barely-baptized Philanthropy, but the relationship with his one true best friend as well.

How could he risk this. Risk it, and lose this imperfect man who understood so perfectly, with the clever hands and the sarcastic humor, so absolutely dense when it came to technology and long-term plans, and yet so damn bright when it came to making Hal feel brave with just a few well put words.

It was non-negotiable, and time went on. Their conversations never stopped. Neither did Philanthropy nor Hal’s feelings, both taking root and growing alongside each other within his heart - and as they did, he feared the strength of his emotions would one day choke the life out of their operation. Perhaps come bubbling out in a stream of disjointed words until they drowned him, David drifting away in their current, too disturbed to stay by his side.

But the Big Shell sank into the sea, and while its collapse brought pain and reopened old wounds, the waves that arose from from the wreckage also brought forgiveness. It suddenly made sense, the weird synchrony in between them; how consistent it was when David picked him up, spoke to him, and held him in the aftermath.

It was the kind of love that wasn’t unrequited, that needed no other explanations than movement, and silence, and needy, incoherent moans.

Back to the present, resting entangled under the covers of the squeaky bed in their current safe house, Hal is once again deep in thought. There’s something that has been bothering him since they returned from the longest April 30th in the history of forever, an eternity of weeks ago. He hadn’t deemed it important at first but now--

He breaks the silence, says: "You know, I got word of Jack this afternoon. He seems to be alright, still laying low but in good company."

He waits for a remark, and when he gets none except for Dave now looking at him intently, Hal continues to his true question:

"Since you were terribly late for the rendezvous", he grins, no barb in his words despite the phrasing, "I can only conclude you two had a talk."

“A talk…” Dave repeats, raising an eyebrow to him. The old tactic of echoing back two words as a cue to urge him on and get to the point no longer stresses him. Hal understands his reasons now, knows it’s an habit born from practicality instead of a lack of interest.

Softly, Hal asks: “What did you say to him?”

Dave has a slight smile now. Closes his eyes again, stretches, and Hal adjusts to the new position, not wanting to lose his place on top of his chest.

"Hm. Just gave the kid some words to go by."

Somehow, that’s all Hal needs to believe him.

Raiden is going to be alright.

And so are they.

**Author's Note:**

> So this came from a prompt my BFF @Aigle gave me at tumblr, which listed "Malapert" as "Clever In Manners Of Speech" as a meaning. After I wrote it, I did a Google Search and learnt that meaning was-- well. Not quite correct. So it left me in despair and without a title, go figure.
> 
> I suck at titles and this one still doesn't convince me but it's past 3:45 and I need to publish this.


End file.
